


the daily and divine

by feeltripping



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domme Clarke, Dry Humping, Edging, F/F, Face-Sitting, Light Dom/sub, Oral Sex, Power Dynamics, Sub Lexa, Teasing, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 18:09:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10576689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feeltripping/pseuds/feeltripping
Summary: Clarke has access to Lexa's schedule and a Plan.(check the tags for specifics. written for a prompt on tumblr)





	

**Author's Note:**

> not beta-ed or even really read for typos. let me know if you see one and I'll fix it. :)

“What are you doing?”

Clarke jumps from where she’s bent over Lexa’s desk, pinning her hands behind her back. “What? Me? Nothing. Not… anything. And anyway, what are _you_ doing?”

Lexa raises an eyebrow. “Absolutely nothing about that was casual.”

Clarke hops up on Lexa’s desk, knocking a frame of herself to the ground, a few pens rolling away. “Come here and kiss me.”

Lexa comes between her legs and dips her head until their lips are barely touching. Clarke digs her feet into the backs of Lexa’s thighs, trying to bring her closer. Lexa resists. “You’re not distracting me.”

Clarke sticks her chest slightly out. “No?”

Lexa’s eyes flicker. Then she refocuses. “You were looking at my planner.”

“Maybe I was… planning something.”

Lexa rolls her eyes. She reaches behind Clarke and snags her planner, bringing it closer to scan her schedule for the week. “I’m considering going digital.”

Clarke gasps, hand to her mouth. “Deception. Betrayal.”

Lexa hooks a finger in the front of Clarke’s shirt and tugs it out, peering down it and smiling. “You’re just upset because you haven’t managed to convince me to fuck you on it.”

Clarke glowers at the book in Lexa’s hand. “‘It’ll leave sweat stains, Clarke’,” she mocks, “‘It’ll make the highlighter run, Clarke’.”

“Tragic,” Lexa agrees. She unhooks Clarke’s bra through the back of her shirt and makes a pleased noise at the result.

Clarke watches her, fond. “Having fun?”

“Sure,” Lexa agrees, “Italian sounds good.”

++

Clarke topples over on the bed, Lexa attached to her throat. Clarke lands on her back, Lexa bouncing against her, and she scrambles back off the bed to yank her shirt over her head while Clarke flails on the mattress, kicking off her socks and getting her jeans just undone before Lexa grabs her by the backs of her thighs and drags her closer, yanking them off and leaving her in underwear and socks. “Get down here,” she growls, grabbing Lexa on the back of her neck and dragging her into a kiss. Lexa indulges her, softening a little with Clarke’s tongue in her mouth, enough Clarke rolls them over to pin Lexa down and sit on her hips.

She drags a finger down Lexa’s chest, the flush rising, the soft paleness of her belly. Her bra is front clasp and Clarke undoes it with a flick. “You in a bra,” she muses, guiding the cups away to bare Lexa’s chest. “Should be a crime.”

Lexa sighs, tipping her head back while Clarke traces around her nipples, the curves of her breasts. She digs her fingertip into the underside of the right one, slightly bigger than the left, not noticeable except that Clarke knows every inch of her. Writes her name with her nail, the skin red and scratchy when she’s done and Lexa’s little quiver. “Clarke.”

Clarke kisses her throat, open mouthed and wet. “Can I eat you out?”

Lexa’s hips jump up. She moans, eyes fluttering shut. 

Clarke drags down her body, stripping her naked and sliding her palms under Lexa’s ass, kneeling over Lexa’s lower body. Lexa drapes a knee over Clarke’s shoulder and curls her toes against Clarke’s back and Clarke lifts her up by the ass, bringing her pretty cunt to Clarke’s mouth. She makes it loud, obscenely so, sloppy slurping and sucking and long wet licks and Lexa is already trembling and twitching and whimpering. 

Lexa’s hands are restless; they drag down her own ribs and then rake up Clarke’s shoulders and settle, finally on the back of Clarke’s head, where they twist in her hair and hold her close while she grinds her hips in tiny circles on Clarke’s mouth. It isn’t long before her shaking becomes pronounced, her hips jumping against Clarke’s hands and her spine arching off the bed. “I’m--” she manages, “Clarke--”

Clarke drops Lexa’s hips to the bed and takes her mouth away. Lexa whines a little, then blows out a sigh, almost huffy. She peers down the length of her own body to pout and Clarke drops a kiss to the point of one hip. She waits until Lexa’s settled down to start again, with a long drag of her tongue up the length of her before wiggling just the tip inside to make Lexa keen. Lexa is so sensitive, and Clarke prefers fingering her because she feels more in control but there’s something about the way Lexa tastes and the way she loves it when Clarke kisses her there, the height of intimacy. “Look at me,” she says, and waits until Lexa’s obeys before sealing her lips around Lexa’s clit and sucking gently. Lexa’s eyes roll back into her head and Clarke watches her fight it, making herself refocus on Clarke’s face because Clarke told her too. 

“Good girl,” Clarke murmurs, and kisses the inside of her thighs for a long time, until both of Lexa’s legs are on her back and Lexa’s hands are cradling her jaw, trying to aim her back where Lexa wants her. “Don’t be pushy.”

Lexa groans, needful and greedy and soaked, flushed from her cheeks to her belly. “Please,” she gasps, at the ceiling. 

Clarke nips at her, hard, then soothes the sting with a closed mouth press of her lips. “Shh,” she murmurs. Two fingers up the inside of Lexa’s thighs to feel her, slick and wet, the pressure of her thumb to watch her get wetter, stringing. Just one finger, slow slow slow. Lexa is drenched and she makes such a sound when Clarke enters her, pleased and a little huffy when Clarke doesn’t immediately move or give her more. Clarke adds her tongue again, flicking against her own finger and rocking her body back and forth. Lexa plants her foot to give her leverage to grind on Clarke’s chin and Clarke reaches a hand out to shove her leg flat again.

Lexa whines.

“Stop that,” Clarke says, crawling up to pepper her words with bites across Lexa’s chest. “You should be glad I’m taking it easy on you.”

Lexa pauses. She blinks at the ceiling. “Mm?”

Clarke puts her hand around Lexa’s throat. She tightens her fingers, one after the other, rolling pressure. “You wouldn’t come without asking me, right?”

“No,” Lexa agrees. Tension slides from her muscles until she’s quiet and limp relaxed, legs splayed open and arms slightly out from her sides with the palms facing up, long slow blinks and the tickle of Clarke’s hair making the fine hairs on her belly rise. 

“Be a good girl?” Clarke croons, laying it on thicker to watch Lexa slide further down into her head. “My good girl?”

“Your good girl,” Lexa repeats, dreamy. She sighs. A tremble rides from her chest down her left leg; the tips of her fingers twitch. 

Clarke rewards her with two fingers and a slow twisting pump that has Lexa’s toes curling. “I was planning something,” she says. Lexa doesn’t respond, her brow furrowed. “When you caught me at your desk. I checked your schedule. Do you know what you’re doing tomorrow?” Lexa jogs her hips, tipping her head back and trying to grind against Clarke’s palm. Clarke makes her voice sharp. “Tell me or I’ll stop.”

“I’m--” Lexa shudders, then pants, heavy and wet. “I, uh--”

“You can do it,” Clarke coaxes. “Tell me.”

“Conference,” Lexa gasps, arching up and twisting her head back, almost a grimace. “On---tort, tort law. A talk.” She collapses back, breathing hard and eyes flickering back at the ceiling. 

“Good girl.” Clarke ducks her head against and fucks Lexa with two curled fingers and her wrist locked and her tongue between them, until Lexa vibrates under her, twitching and tossing her head and gasping as she holds her orgasm back because Clarke told her to.

Lexa’s hands go from desperately clutching Clarke closer to trying to push her mouth away, almost sobbing out for Clarke to stop, please. “I can’t--”

Clarke pauses to snarl and growl until Lexa’s hands drop to the mattress and lie still and obedient. “You can, and you will, or you’ll take a punishment.” She looks up to check: Lexa nodding at herself, face twisted up and determined. She rakes her nails down Lexa’s ribs, hard enough to leave lines and raise welts, and it settles Lexa enough that she takes a single deep breath and settles. 

She goes another ten minutes, until Lexa’s begging breaks into wordless desperate noises and she’s unable to hold herself still, writhing. Clarke kisses her one last time, pausing to feel Lexa’s heat, how wet she is, how her body clings to Clarke’s lips and petals open for her when she blows gently across it. She pulls away completely and Lexa makes a garbled sound--half crushing relief and half wrenching loss.

“Come here,” Clarke says, and she has to help Lexa sit up, still trembly, to drape herself in Clarke’s lap, legs spread and face buried in Clarke’s neck. She mouths at Clarke a little, without intent, soothing herself by feeling Clarke’s skin and tasting Clarke’s sweat. She kisses Lexa’s damp hairline and rubs her back and then lower, to grope gently at Lexa’s ass and finally slide around to slip her fingers back inside. 

“Oh,” Lexa murmurs, head sliding lower until her lips are pressed to the hollow of Clarke’s throat. “I--oh my god.”

“Mm,” Clarke acknowledges, and starts her off real slow and easy, barely moving. 

Lexa whines. It’s not enough, Clarke knows, that maddening barely-there stimulation, and she smirks, ducking her jaw to bite hard at Lexa’s shoulder, until the copper tinge taste touches her tongue and Lexa moans, low and prolonged. It’s such a pretty noise that she adjusts so Lexa can grind against her wrist. “Can I,” Lexa mumbles, her words half muffled. “Clarke?”

“Yes,” Clarke says, and starts her off with her free hand on Lexa’s hip, prompting the first slow lift-fall of her body as she starts to ride Clarke’s fingers and grind against her palm and her wrist. “Faster.”

Lexa nods against her chest, sitting up a little so she can brace her hands on Clarke’s thighs, lip between her teeth as she concentrates, pupils blown and flushed heaving chest. “Mm,” she says, brow furrowed in effort, whine of effort. “Oh--”

“Don’t stop,” Clarke says, reaching a hand between them to tweak at Lexa’s nipple. When Lexa’s movements falter she aims a smack at the underside of Lexa’s left breast, designed to startle rather than pain. Lexa yelps, eyes widening, and her movements double in speed. Clarke loves her like this, so responsive and honest and open. Clarke grabs Lexa’s hair, wrapping it around her knuckles, and hauls her in for a kiss, messy and all teeth and Lexa making a soft noise at the taste of herself on Clarke’s tongue. 

“Close,” Lexa mumbles, their lips still touching. “I’m close.”

Clarke kisses the tip of her nose and presses her thumb against Lexa’s clit. “And?”

Lexa takes a shuddering breath. She shakes her head, eyes squeezing shut. Clarke pulls her hand away, her fingers stringing, and when Lexa cries out in loss she hooks them behind Lexa’s lower teeth and holds her jaw open until Lexa drools, trying and failing to suck it back and swallow. “Messy,” Clarke tells her, keeping her tone detached and cool and not entirely succeeding. “Mess of a thing.”

Lexa shudders. Her tongue curls at Clarke’s fingers and she whines and when Clarke relaxes her grip she wastes no time in sealing her lips around Clarke’s fingers and sucking eagerly, her chin spit shiny. She pouts her lips just so and tips her head back to show her throat and looks at Clarke through her lashes and Clarke smiles, tugging her finger free with a pop. “Temptress.”

Lexa attempts to affect an innocent look. Clarke rolls her eyes. She lays back, stretching on her back against the mattress and waiting until Lexa peers over at her, uncertain and a little confused. Clarke taps her hips and Lexa only hesitates for a second before slinging her leg over and straddling her, gasping and pitching forward when her slick center drags over Clarke’s torso. Clarke curls her fingers around the Lexa’s hips and urges her up, Lexa’s eyes fluttering shut as she slips up Clarke’s body, Clarke’s hands sliding around to grope at her ass, knead and dig in the tips of her nails, until Lexa is positioned just so, over her mouth and her thighs trembling.

“Good girl,” Clarke praises, and Lexa shudders. She starts to drop her weight and Clarke growls, stilling her just inches away. “Not yet.”

Lexa whines. Her hips move back and forth, once, trying to grind against nothing. 

“Not yet,” Clarke repeats. Lexa’s knees are on each side of her head, and she kisses the inside of one, then the other. She waits. She can smell Lexa, feel the heat of her, see how wet and open and ready she is, and she squeezes her own thighs together, squirmy. She blows up a cool stream of air against Lexa clit and Lexa’s hands thump to the mattress, back arching as she forces herself to stay still. “Hands,” Clarke orders. 

Lexa lurches forward, scrabbling to try and wrap her hands around the struts of the headboard. She can’t quite reach and she makes a noise, panicked. Clarke shushes her, gently. “Behind your back, baby.”

Lexa nods, jerky, and takes a steadying breath. She puts her hands behind her back, elbows bent, hands clasping her forearms. She straightens her spine and sits up on her knees, keeping her pose and perfecting her posture. The positioning thrusts her chest forward, and Clarke traces from the hollow of her throat around her breasts in a figure eight motion, three times slow and dragging and leaving red lines in her wake. Lexa’s head tips back, her mouth falling open, head lolling, hazy and lost in the sensation.

Two more minutes and Lexa is starting to shudder continuously, a quiet keening noise escaping through her teeth. “Almost,” Clarke murmurs, petting Lexa’s ribcage and the small dimples in her lower back. “Almost there.” Lexa draws her lip between her teeth, her breathing high pitched and needy, and Clarke takes pity on her. “So good,” she says. “So pretty. Do you want a reward?”

Lexa’s breath rushes from her chest. “Yes, please, yes--”

“Quiet.”

Lexa’s mouth snaps shut with a click of teeth. She meets Clarke’s eyes, pupils blown and face twisted in need. 

“In a minute,” Clarke tells her, “you’re going to sit on my face.” Lexa nods, eyes glazing over. Clarke can feel the fine tremor in her muscles, the quick fire neurons and the trembling anticipation. “But not until you do something for me first. Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Lexa gasps, “anything.”

It’s the perfect response, and Clarke wiggles to adjust herself and Lexa above her, until she’s directly under Lexa’s flushed slick cunt. “All you have to do,” she croons, massaging at the ache in Lexa’s thighs, “is drip for me.”

 

Lexa pants, loud and obscene, and she groans and she twists and she yelps when Clarke grips her hips hard enough to bruise up pretty purple and blue and finally, finally, clear fluid gathers up enough to string down from her center into Clarke’s waiting mouth, her outstretched waiting tongue. Clarke sucks her tongue against the roof of her mouth and smiles. 

“Good girl,” she says, and draws Lexa down on her face. She’s enveloped immediately, overloaded by Lexa’s taste and her smell, thick in her mouth and her nose and she suckles and drags her tongue up and down and urges Lexa’s hips to grind down on her chin. Her cheeks are covered in slick, her chin coated. She’ll be tasting Lexa on her tongue and down her throat for hours. She lets her eyes close and loses herself in it, blissed out, until Lexa cries out, lifting herself up with a lurch and falling prone on the bed, slumped half on Clarke, gasping wetly against the sheets. “Lexa?”

Lexa shakes atop her. “Was gonna come,” she mumbles, her face hidden. She trembles again, from head to toe. “Was--I was--”

“Alright,” Clarke soothes. “Come here.”

Lexa flops her way to tuck her face into Clarke’s neck, her breathing steadying slowly. Clarke strokes her back in long quieting movements, large easy circles and gentle presses of her palm to Lexa’s shoulderblades. 

Clarke gently guides Lexa’s face up to look at her, wet eyed from the intensity and still keyed up. They kiss, careful and soft, and Clarke extends her tongue out so Lexa can close her lips around it and suck away the taste of herself. They break with a wet sliding noise and Clarke smiles. She kisses between Lexa’s eyes. “Okay?”

Lexa nods. “Yeah.” Her gaze turns faintly hopeful. “More?”

Clarke grins. “I have just the thing. Water first though.”

Lexa crawls to the side, flailing out until she grasps at the cup of water on the nightstand, draining it eagerly before wiggling back and looking at Clarke expectantly. 

 

Clarke lays on her back with her head tilted back and her tongue stuck out so far it aches. Lexa is hunched over her, bowed in two, forearms and elbows planted on the bed and hands fisted in the sheets, open mouthed against the pillow as she lifts herself up and then lowers herself, slow slow slow, as Clarke’s tongue enters her, held perfectly still, over and over. “Fuck,” Lexa gasps. “Oh---oh fuck.”

Clarke hums, her jaw and tongue aching, struggling to swallow. She taps Lexa’s hip after two minutes, needing a break, and Lexa stills, obedient in place while Clarke works her jaw and licks moisture back into her mouth. “One more time,” she says, and Lexa shakes, but she moves herself just like Clarke wants. Clarke loves the way it feels to breach Lexa like this, infinitely slow and intimate, the way Lexa has to fight herself not to drop her weight and grind and how she does it just because Clarke told her to.

“Stop,” she says, after another three minutes. She nudges Lexa back into her lap and sits up. Hand around Lexa’s back to steady her and propping herself back on the headboard, scootching up the bed to position them just so, Lexa’s legs spread over Clarke’s thighs, a warm messy puddle in her embrace. She touches the tip of her finger to Lexa’s entrance and holds very still. “Okay?”

Lexa nods. Her forehead drops to Clarke’s shoulder and she sighs when Clarke slips inside her with two fingers, and Clarke holds still just to feel her, the clench and the glide and the flutter; the slick grip of Lexa’s body and her breath panting out harsh and hot against Clarke’s chest. Clarke starts to thrust, slow but ramping up quickly, guiding Lexa’s limp fingers around her wrist so Lexa can go nonverbal the way she likes, lose herself in sensation, ground herself with Clarke’s wrist and grip harder when she needs to stop. 

It’s only a few moments before Clarke feels Lexa’s fingers clench, and she slows way down, a slow pump and even slower scissoring motion, until Lexa relaxes. The second time, Lexa bites at her collarbones, desperate and trying to self soothe. The third, Clarke stops moving entirely and Lexa cries out, desperate and distraught. The fourth, Lexa just goes limp, shaking minutely but otherwise nonresponsive, letting Clarke use her gently and torture her sweetly, and Clarke knows she’s had enough.

She tips Lexa from her lap and Lexa slides off, slumping in an unmoving heap. Clarke arranges her on her belly and arranges her limbs to lie flat and comfortable, legs spread open and arms straight out, palm down and fingers flat. “A little bit more,” she coaxes. “Enough to feel it tomorrow?”

Lexa’s eyes flicker, barely open and moving restlessly. Her fingers twitch, then curl up, leaving three sticking out in a signal, and Clarke smiles, bending to kiss the back of Lexa’s neck. She leaves pink clouds on the swell of Lexa’s ass, dark red in the center of her handprints, until her palm stings and the edges have started to bruise up. Then she lays down on her stomach with her head pillowed on her arm, very close to Lexa, and calls her back, gently, Lexa’s name in a soft coaxing murmur, cajoling.

 

Lexa blinks, mouth slack. Her throat works up and down and her swallows are weak. “Clarke,” she manages eventually, sounding like it took everything she’s got to get the one syllable out. 

Clarke smiles, slow and deep and so full of love. “There you are.” Lexa tilts her chin up and Clarke kisses her, indulgent. “Gotta get up now,” Clarke murmurs, against her lips. “Get cleaned up.”

Lexa pouts. She squirms closer and tucks herself into Clarke, sneaking her leg under Clarke’s and making a quiet, satisfied noise.

“Lexa,” Clarke scolds, gently. 

Lexa whines. She smushes her face into Clarke’s chest and licks the side of Clarke’s breast, before peeking out with big beseeching eyes. 

Clarke flicks her hip. “Not gonna cut it.”

Lexa sighs. Her eyes narrow. She lets Clarke haul her up and stumbles on weak legs to the bathroom while Clarke holds her up and drags her along and props her against the counter. Clarke wets a soft cloth at the sink and when she turns Lexa is glowering at the floor, lip stuck out and stormcloud face. 

“Grump,” Clarke says, unbearably fond. She curls her fingers around Lexa’s hip and presses against the wall, spreading Lexa’s legs with her foot and cleaning her up. 

 

They toddle back to the bed, Clarke feeling as drained as Lexa looks, and Clarke throws off the top blanket to tuck them underneath the clean sheets, whisper soft and cooling against their flushed skin. “Still going to pretend to be upset with me?”

Lexa huffs. Then she turns her back to Clarke. She lasts about twenty seconds before she’s looking over her shoulder, betrayed and outraged, and Clarke giggles as she slides up close and draws Lexa’s back against her chest, resting her cheek above Lexa’s ear and holding her tight for a moment before relaxing. 

++

Clarke has to drag Lexa out from under the blanket the next morning, Lexa furiously hissing at her in rage until Clarke props her hands on her hips and says: “Fine. Be late. Skip the conference.”

Lexa makes an offended noise. She throws the blanket she’d been playing tug of war with against Clarke aside and stalks naked into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her. 

Clarke rolls her eyes. She waits ten minutes before barging in and catching Lexa attempting to catnap under the shower spray. She turns the tap to cold and Lexa flails out of the shower so fast she almost rips the curtain off, looking like a particularly offended cat until Clarke throws the towel at her face. By the time she’s forced Lexa to get dressed and sit down and drink a full glass of orange juice while Clarke does up her hair into a bun Lexa is glaring daggers and Clarke is feeling particularly prickly herself.

She makes herself take a breath and touch Lexa’s shoulder gently at the door. “Are you going to be okay on the train?”

Lexa frowns. She sighs. “Yes,” she mutters. She ducks forward and kisses Clarke quick and sweetly grudging. “My ass hurts.”

“Oh?” Clarke rests a hand on the small of Lexa’s back with intent and Lexa’s breath catches. She slides it down, slow, until it rests on Lexa’s right ass cheek, imagining the heat bloom of ache under her slacks. She grips, slow, and then increases pressure until Lexa gasps and her knees buckle before she catches herself. Then she draws away and kisses Lexa’s cheek. “Be good today,” she says, and nudges Lexa out the door gently before shutting the door on Lexa’s open mouthed surprise.

++

_Clarke_

Clarke is shoving handfuls of mini pretzels into her mouth and watching reality court television. She ignores the buzzing for another three minutes before unlocking her phone with a flick of a finger and scanning the messages. _clarke_ and _clarke!_ and then, hidden by the glitter sparkle of an invisible ink message, _miss?_.

Clarke chokes on a salt grain and thumps her own chest, eyes watering. _bad girl_

Lexa responds with an emoji, grumpfaced. _you did this to yourself_

Clarke ignores her for another two minutes, thinking. She taps quickly at the screen. _you sitting down?_

_it’s a lecture clarke, not a march for equality_

_don’t be bratty_

Clarke tosses the bag of pretzels aside and lays herself out on the couch, draped artfully and arranging her hair into a curtain of cascading blonde locks. Tugs her shirt down and shoves the cups of her bra up and drapes one leg over the back of the sofa. Holds her phone at six different angles until she finds the perfect one: lascivious and arched eyebrow. 

Lexa sends six angry emojis in a row, and then goes silent.

++

Lexa’s key turns in the lock while Clarke is doing the dishes. She doesn’t bother to turn, listening to the door open and shut and the thump of Lexa’s bag and the drag drop of her shoes, her quiet padding footsteps into the bedroom. She’s surprised when Lexa doesn’t re-emerge and she wipes her hand on her sweats, wandering into the bedroom half-expecting Lexa to be napping in the patch of sun that falls across their bed at this hour. 

She’s drawn up short instead: Lexa, naked and kneeling with her back to Clarke, hands on her thighs and the perfect curve of her spine, hair braided back neatly. “Oh,” she says, breath caught. She recovers quickly. “Impatient, baby?”

Lexa makes a whining noise. She goes to hands and knees, hips up to present, already glistening and her ass bruised up so pretty and it’s unbelievably manipulative but Clarke can’t help her reaction. She falls against Lexa’s back with a growl, bearing her down to the rug and grinding rough against her bruises while Lexa makes a delighted eager noise and splays her legs open. 

“No,” Clarke growls. “Squeeze your legs together.”

She plants her legs on either side, forcing that barely there not enough pressure, and worms her hands underneath Lexa’s torso to grip her breasts, tight. She leans her hips against Lexa’s ass, sore and tender and red, and thrusts against her, messy awkward and hard enough Lexa yelps as she bounces against the floor. Clarke keeps going, hard slamming jerky movements, over and over, and closes her teeth around Lexa’s earlobe, enough to draw the faintest hint of blood. 

She flicks Lexa’s nipples and digs her nails in and humps against Lexa’s bruises and snarls filth and when she bites the back of Lexa’s neck and pulls up and side to side like she’s scolding a bad puppy Lexa makes a high pitched noise and comes, just like that, otherwise untouched.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you think and catch me on tumblr @ feeltripping


End file.
